


Making People-Friends

by perilouspage



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilouspage/pseuds/perilouspage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the hardened-vet-gone-cat-maniac thing he had going on, Washington was one of the most attractive people Tucker had ever met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making People-Friends

When Tucker found the first cat hiding in his front bushes, he only experienced slight concern. After all, he'd seen many grungy, feral cats loping around the neighborhood, but the one he'd found didn't look like a stray. It was petite, cream-colored with chocolate seal-point markings, and wore a sparkly pink collar with tags and a bell. She obviously belonged to someone. A chilled, late-autumn breeze set a nagging and soft part of his brain into Protective Dad Mode. With a grunt, Tucker dropped his bag and crouched in front of the bush, making small kissy noises to lure her out. She mewled and complied, easily sauntering out and allowing Tucker to pet her. He read on the tags that her name was Ari, that she was up-to-date on her vaccinations, and that her owner lived three houses down the road.

Tucker checked his watch- he had ten minutes to get to work, he'd be cutting it close- and decided, screw it. Ari allowed Tucker to scoop her up, even nuzzled his jaw, and he set off at a brisk power walk down the sidewalk. He determinedly stomped up the concrete steps that lead to the front door. The house was small, very similar in size and shape to Tucker's. He gave the thing three sharp raps, counted to ten, and gave four more. He would give this neighbor a piece of his mind, about letting Siamese cats out in the _goddamned winter weather, how stupid and irresponsible of a cat owner did you have to..._

 _...be_. Well, shit.

The man who answered the door was easily a head and a half taller than Tucker. He wore nothing but a pair of fuzzy pants, festooned with small, ice-skating polar bears and various colors of shed fur, and yet he simultaneously managed to be one of the scariest and most physically attractive people Tucker had ever seen. His pale skin was dusted with freckles across his shoulders and face, and on his chest and abdomen the skin puckered together in three separate spots: a shot-wound scar just under his right pectoral, a slice scar from hipbone to hipbone, and a stab scar just above his bellybutton. He was muscular, too, obviously maintained for use and necessity rather than show. His build and his grey-blonde hair, cut fairly short and in disarray, screamed military, as did the frown lines and under-eye bruises that adorned his face. Yet, he had youthful and inquisitive blue eyes, their curious gaze turned on Tucker.

It took a few moments for Tucker to realize that he was staring, and a few more to remember why he was there.

“Um,” the man grunted, leaning on his doorjamb. “Did you need something? It's kind of chilly out here."

Tucker snapped to, and thrust Ari at the man. “Your cat was out in my bushes, I thought I'd bring her home.”

The man gingerly took Ari from Tucker's hands, cradling her against his bare chest. He said, “Thank you. She must have gotten out when I let Skyler out earlier.” At this point, he was talking more to the cat than to Tucker. He tickled under her chin, kissed her between the ears, and then gently placed her on the floor beside him. The cat sauntered into the house, leaving the two men together on the front step.

Tucker cleared his throat, shuffled, rechecked his watch. He finally said, “It was nice meeting you, uh...”

“David,” the man offered. “David Washington. My friends just call me Wash.”

Tucker laughed and responded, “I'm Lavernius Tucker. You can call me whatever you want, as long as you call me.”

Wash peered at his newly-introduced neighbor, a slight hint of amusement on his face. Tucker shrugged, and Wash barked out a half-sincere laugh. Then, he said, “But I don't even have your number.”

“Let's fix that, then,” Tucker replied. He then patted his pockets until he found a Sharpie, hidden in the inner pocket of his coat. He held out his hand and flexed his fingers in a gimme motion, to which Wash responded by holding out his forearm, hand curled in a fist to make the tendons stick out. Ah, so this guy liked playing the smug asshole bit. It didn't match the tenderness he'd displayed with the cat, an almost comical contrast. Tucker could swing with that. He uncapped the pen with his teeth, scribbled a few digits onto his acquaintance's skin, and nodded approvingly. “I'll hear from you then, man.”

Wash grinned cheekily, responding, “I'll look forward to it, Lavernius.”

With that, he turned without waiting for a response, and proceeded to sprint back down the street in a vain attempt to make up some time. _Smooth, man_ , he praised as he ran. _Smooth_.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little project I'm working on, a few sentences at a time. I'm mostly using it as a writer's block buster. Chapters will probably be short, but I'll try to update it frequently, so please bear with me. Thank you for reading!


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